


Alopaynay

by uumuu



Series: The shores of life [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuiviénen, Fluff, Gen, Implied Míriel/OFC, Kid Fic, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Cuiviénen, young Fëanor asks Míriel about his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alopaynay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngstyChaosMagicUser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyChaosMagicUser/gifts).



> Inspired by [this prompt](http://silmarillionkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1329.html?thread=124465#cmt124465).
> 
> 'Alopaynay is the Amis word for firebug/glowworm.

“Mother, tell me about Father,” Fëanáro chirped, snuggling back into Míriel's embrace.

They sat together on the soft grass of the lake-side, in the spot Fëanáro liked best. Starlight glittered all over the unruffled waters of Cuiviénen in silver-blue hues that were to him an endless source of fascination.

Míriel let her son get comfortable, and when he stilled placed a loud kiss on a soft, rosy cheek. She was overjoyed to be able to be with him, at last. It had taken her many years to fully recover from the illness she had suffered after his birth, but with the help of her family and friends she had made it. Fëanáro had by then grown into a sprightly, inquisitive child, as eager as she herself was to make up for the time they lost. She tightened her arms around his small waist, and raised her head, looking out at the lake as if she saw it for the first time.

“Your father...Finwë,” she began, her voice taking on a melancholy note when she said her former lover's name, “has the same hair colour as you, sheeny black as the span of a raven's wing, and his eyes are very alike yours, just a tad lighter. You favour him in your features, too, and in mood...in part.”

Fëanáro pulled a lock of his own hair before his face and looked at it intently. His brow furrowed a little, and Míriel could tell that his lively mind was mulling over something. 

“Why did he leave?” 

Fëanáro had asked the same question many times to the people who had looked after him while his mother was bed-ridden, but he had never received a satisfying answer. A part of Míriel was glad that her friends had left the task to her, prickly as it was. 

“As I said, he's as restless and as curious as you, my star.”

“ _I_ would never leave you.”

Míriel gave a faint smile at that. She had often asked herself if it had been wise to have a child by Finwë before he left, but now, even after a slow, faltering recovery, she was certain it had been the right choice. “Well...he travelled to a land far, far away, and saw light...a light much purer and brighter than that we have here, he said. An exceptionally beautiful light.”

“Nothing is more beautiful than the stars,” Fëanáro promptly countered, and with the same assuredness went on, “and if Father left you for light, he is a fool.”

“...why?”

“Your hair is the brightest,” Fëanáro said, simple and solemn, and Míriel was taken so off-guard that she couldn't help laugh out loud. Fëanáro didn't seem to mind. He took a lock of her hair and entwined it with his own. “Do you think I can meet him, someday?”

“Who knows,” Míriel whispered. “Nobody knows the way to this place he went to. We just know it's west...and beyond an expanse of water much much larger than the lake.”

Fëanáro scoffed, clearly unimpressed or unconvinced – or both. “I will give you light...I will scoop up starlight from the lake!” 

“Scoop up?”

“There must be a way to.” Fëanáro turned in his mother's arms, meeting her gaze. “There are bugs in the forest that glow...they hold light _within_ them!”

Fëanáro's face had become serious, almost too serious for a child his age, but before Míriel could say anything, there came a voice from behind them.

“Míriellë.” 

Mother and son both turned to see Yúlië, Míriel's current lover, waving at them from the border of the forest: it was dinner-time. Fëanáro sprang up at once. Míriel smiled at Yúlië and sprang to her feet too, brushing dirt and glass blades from her trousers. She lifted Fëanáro in her arms. Fëanáro frowned, afraid to tire her, but Míriel kissed the creases of his little forehead away. 

“Well, you might find a way to scoop up light from the lake one day,” she said, as she started walking up the gentle slope towards the forest, “but in the meanwhile, will you help me make thread tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Fëanáro beamed, locking his hands around Míriel's neck, “I love you, Mom.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wayfarer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239365) by [Varaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varaen/pseuds/Varaen)




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